Sustenance
by Croik
Summary: 4 part miniseries featuring short fics on Aiga, Yuusaku, Matt, and Zenitora. Spoilers for JFA4 and GS32 and 3.
1. Part 1 Aiga Hoshiidake

Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney / Gyakuten Saiban, its characters and settings, are property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. Rated PG.

This fic takes place during the crime of GS3 case 2, Stolen Turnabout. Spoilers for that case.

**Sustenance  
**Part 1

* * *

For several long, tense moments, the faint echo of Aiga's breath was the only sound in the office. He told himself to move over and over but the message never reached his limbs. His hands were still clutched tightly around the heavy, hardcover records book, his feet rooted firmly to the ground. And despite the anxiety clawing at his ribs he couldn't take his eyes away from the scene he'd created.

Busujima's corpse was growing stiff in a corner of the room, but it wasn't his grotesque, bloated face that held Aiga's strict attention. It was the slumped pile of silk and lace at his feet. He hadn't realized just how hard he'd struck the Phantom Thief until now, agonizing minutes later, with still no movement. His adrenaline was finally catching up to him. With each passing heartbeat against his temples his composure began to slip, faced with the possibility he may have killed his young accomplice.

If Amasugi was dead, there was no way to frame him for murder—how could two men kill each other exchanging blows to the _backs_ of their heads? Aiga's mind spun as he finally tore his gaze away, sweeping the room. He hadn't left any evidence of himself here, there was no way to link him to either murder. His plan could still be played out. There was no reason for anyone to suspect him at all…

If Amasugi was dead….

Aiga shuddered, tossing the book away as he dropped to his knees next to the young man's crumpled form. "Amasugi!" In a moment of thoughtless panic he shook Amasugi's shoulder as if to wake him. When he realized what he was doing he quickly stopped, and hesitated another moment in silence to see if the thief would stir. But there was still no response, and with a wary grimace he reached forward, carefully removing the polished silver mask.

The disruption of Amasugi's costume caused a little bit of his red hair to stick out from the carefully stitched cowl. His face…appeared calm, as if he were merely asleep. There was color in his cheeks. But Aiga was still concerned; he tugged one of his gloves off, pressing his hand over Amgasugi's nose and mouth.

Slow, shallow breath tickled Aiga's fingers, and he sighed openly in relief. Quickly his mind arranged itself back into order. His plan was working perfectly after all. All he had to do was alert security, make his escape, return to the exhibition, and the police would…

Aiga shifted on his knees, feeling a familiar anxiety creeping over him. His stomach felt hollow as he began to draw his hand back. Amasugi's cheek was soft beneath his own coarse fingertips. He hesitated mysteriously, resting the backs of his fingers against Amasugi's curved jaw.

It was the first time they'd met face to face since that night in the alley. Amgasugi looked just as young, as innocent and foolish as he had then. And yet for the last several months he had been the perfect solution, the answer to a lifetime's vexations. Aiga could not have asked for a more fitting partner, and their fame would outlast even this unfortunate incident.

There was no reason to believe that either of them would ever be that lucky again.

That was over, now. Ever since receiving the unwelcome green envelope Aiga had acted on a flurry of instinct and desperation, trying not to consider the consequences of this plan. Even if everything went perfectly, if he remained unconnected to either crime and went back to work without a dent in his reputation, it still meant his dream was at an end. No Kamen Mask meant returning to seemingly ancient way of life, without flair or stimulation, without recognition or respect…

Aiga stretched his fingers, gently tucking the errant strand of red hair back into place. If anyone could have understood the trepidation he suddenly felt, Amasugi could. The game wasn't even up yet and bitter, cold regret was already crawling into his stomach. It hadn't occurred to him until now, watching Amasugi's face, that he wasn't sure he could go back to that world. The thought of giving up the last few weeks of glory for three decades of failure and disappointment sickened him. Amasugi must have felt the same way—it was why he had come that night, to fight against the death of their drama. Why he had dared to risk his life for fame in the first place, just like Aiga had.

But…no. Amasugi would soon be dead anyway.

The detective's eyes thinned, his lips twisting in a pained grimace of a smile. He almost laughed as he gently stroked Amasugi's cheek with knuckles. Here was one man who understood him. For the first time Aiga wished he had disclosed his identity to his oblivious comrade. Through his mind flashed briefly all the possibilities he'd closed off, the heists they could have planned together, the spectacle they could have orchestrated.

Hadn't he crafted this charade in the first place to give himself a chance of gaining people's favor? But what was the point, if in the end all he could do was destroy the single person he trusted?

It had been…such a wonderful dream.

Amasugi murmured softly but did not stir; the quiet sound of his voice jolted Aiga from his musings, and with a start he realized his hand was trembling, almost violently, against the younger man's face. He drew the offending limb back and shoved it quickly into its glove. "Amasugi…." Aiga shook his head, feeling a cold sweat break out on his brow as he clamored to his feet. "Don't…don't despise me."

Aiga stumbled to the wall, still unsteady as he punched the office's emergency buzzer. Even having caused it the wail of the electronic siren made him cringe away. Amasugi would never know who had betrayed him, Aiga told himself, as he drew a hand over his face and headed swiftly for the door. He would be convicted without ever having to lose…whatever respect he might have had in his rival of so few weeks.

And even if the truth were somehow revealed, at least that resentment would die with him.

Aiga fled, giving Amasugi's yet prone form a wide berth. As confident as he was that his plan would succeed his hands wouldn't stop shaking.


	2. Part 2 Yuusaku Amasugi

Ace Attorney / Gyakuten Saiban, its characters and settings, are property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. This fic is rated PG and contains spoilers for JFA and GS3.

**Sustenance**  
Part 2

* * *

_Come on come on come on--yes!_

The light turned green, and immediately Mareka spurred her motorcycle on through the intersection. It took only a few moments for her to climb back to top speed as she plowed down the city streets in a blur of red chrome. She laughed out loud as the wind whipped past her helmet and ruffled the fur collar against her neck. It was a beautiful night for a ride.

She was considering turning off onto the highway when she suddenly noticed another bike in the lane next to hers: a beauty of a hog with leather seats and hand-painted detailing on the sides. She couldn't see the owner's face beneath his sleek helmet, but he was dressed in a white and red riding suit Mareka had nothing but appreciation for.

_A real rider, huh?_ Grinning, Mareka sped up. In response to her subtle challenge the second bike quickly met and overtook her, only to slow back to her pace a few car lengths ahead. Mareka's heart beat a little faster as she responded in kind.

_If it's a race he wants…

* * *

_

_This isn't what I wanted_….

As soon as the bathroom door closed behind him Yuusaku let out a long, shuddering sigh. _I'm so stupid,_ he chastised himself yet again as he peeled his fingers carefully away from the long, shallow gash across his left bicep. It was still bleeding sluggishly, spreading a barely visible stain across the sleeve of his black turtleneck. With a quiet hiss he covered it again.

_What were you thinking, stupid Amasugi? _His face screwed up in childish shame as he moved to the sink. _Climbing all over the roofs like an idiot._ _You're not a hero._ He took a deep breath and clenched his teeth as he ripped his sleeve away from the jagged wound. _You couldn't even manage espionage. What makes you think you could handle something so much bigger?_

The sleeve came free with a sudden tear, splattering blood across the sink and mirror. Yuusaku winced at the mess. _Can I clean all this up before Mareka gets home…? Oh, if she knew what an idiot I am…_. He bit his lip as he groped about for the first aid kit he thought they had, spreading more red fingerprints across the cabinets and tile.

It was only supposed to be practice. Just a little exercise, up and down the fire escape, maybe jumping a roof or two…. Working up his nerve to take his "hobby" to the next step. He had been so confident starting out. Yuusaku had never been very strong, but he was light, and fast, and flexible--even kiddy training was still training, and he was surprised by how easily he was able to move between his own apartment and the roof.

It was on the way down that he screwed up. Somehow it came into his head that he could jump from the fire escape against his building to the next. He almost made it, too. It wasn't the distance, but his own poor footing that sent him tumbling into the dumpster.

"Darn it!" Unable to find the first aid kit, Yuusaku slammed the cupboard shut and settled instead on running the sink. It wasn't big enough for him to fit his arm under the faucet. Frustrated and at a loss, he did his best to cup the water in his good hand, splashing it over the wound. He had to stop before long, though; it stung so badly that his hands shook, spilling the water before it could do any good.

"So stupid," Yuusaku mumbled dejectedly. He scrubbed at his eyes as they began to sting, too. By now his hair was slipping free of its pins, and the thick loops batted him in the face, turning his frustration to annoyance. "Stupid Amasugi!"

Mareka's laughter floated to him from the other side of the door. He thought he was imagining her berating him until a man's voice joined it. Yuusaku jerked around, wincing as his bruised ribs complained. Mareka was moving through the apartment. He followed the sound of her footsteps, trying to gauge her direction. She was heading for the kitchen.

_What do I do?_ Yuusaku blinked helplessly at the mess he'd made--the mess he _was_. There wasn't any time now to hide anything. And more importantly, who was the man in his home? He didn't recognize the second voice at all….

Yuusaku had no time left to ponder--the knob was already turning. He could only brace himself against the towel rack and stare.

The door opened, revealing a young man no more than Yuusaku's age. The stranger--a brunette with long, stupid-looking bangs and a red racing jacket--stopped to stare in shock. Yuusaku stood transfixed by his incredulous expression.

A moment composed of hours of humiliation passed before the stranger turned his head. "Um, Mareka? There's a strange woman in your bathroom."

"What?" Mareka's laughter was accompanied by the familiar trod of her boots as she approached. There was nowhere to escape to. "What are you--"

Yuusaku's heart was beating in his throat by the time Mareka appeared in the open doorway. He opened his mouth to make some excuse or explanation, but the look of surprise that crossed her face silenced him. As ridiculous as he felt for it, he couldn't muster any response at all.

"Oh my god, Yuusaku!" Mareka pushed her guest out of the way and hurried into the bathroom. "What in the world happened to you? You're bleeding!"

Her fingertips brushed Yuusaku's arm, and the sudden return of pain caused him to jump, waking him from his stupor. "I…" Their eyes met, filling him with panic. "I--I was mugged!" he blurted out.

"Mugged!?" Mareka gave a little shudder of fury. "Ooh! This city is horrible! I'm so sorry, Yuusaku." She guided him to sit on the toilet. "Just sit tight--I'll take care of you." She took a step back and turned to the stranger, who was still standing at the door, looking baffled. "I'm sorry, Matt. The coffee maker's in the kitchen--can you make us a pot while I take care of this?"

_"This?"_ Yuusaku lowered his head in embarrassment. "I'm--I'm okay," he stuttered. "I can--"

"Don't be silly," Mareka was quick to scold him. "I'll be right back with the first aid kit." She touched "Matt's" shoulder on her way out. "You don't mind, do you?"

"'Course not."

"Thanks--I'll be right back, Honey!" Mareka hurried off to the bedroom, which was connect to the _other_ bathroom--the one that actually had the first aid kit.

Yuusaku slumped a little once she was gone. _Mugged._ _Now you're not just an idiot, but a liar._ He was fighting the temptation to grab for his arm again when he realized "Matt" was still standing at the door. He glanced up warily.

Matt was watching him, his expression…still confused, but also oddly smug. "So." The right side of his face was mostly covered with his long bangs, but when he tipped his head just slightly, Yuusaku could see a faint glimpse of his right eye. "You and Mareka…know each other?"

Yuusaku tensed defensively, though it only made him grimace--he was more bruised than he originally thought. "She's my wife."

Matt's eyebrow quirked. Yuusaku hated that expression every time he was fixed with it.

"Wow."

Yuusaku bristled, but by then Mareka's footsteps were returning, and Matt chuckled to himself as he turned to leave. He had no choice but to bite back his indignation. _Everyone is always shocked,_ he reminded himself. _You were shocked, too, when she accepted_….

Mareka stepped back into the bathroom. She had shed her riding jacket, dressed now in the low cut, black tank top that she often wore beneath it. Usually Yuusaku loved seeing her in it, but now he was too occupied to appreciate it, thinking that maybe Matt had seen it, too.

"Here." Mareka plucked the rest of the bobby pins out of Yuusaku's hair, tying it back with one of her scrunchies instead. Her long fingers tending to him settled some of Yuusaku's remaining ill ease, but her questions brought it right back again. "Tell me what happened," she asked as she pulled a wide bandage out of the first aid kit she'd retrieved.

Yuusaku worried his bottom lip between his teeth a moment. "I…." He considered the truth, but as usual, something held him back. It wasn't the truth that she really wanted to hear. "I went for a walk," he explained, his voice pitching tightly. "And…and three men, they jumped me! But I didn't have any money with me, so they…they threw me in a dumpster…"

He ended with a mumble most people wouldn't have been able to hear, but Mareka was used to listening closely. "How awful," she murmured as she applied some antibiotic ointment and carefully bandaged the long scrape. "Did you call the police?"

"The…police…?" Yuusaku cringed. "Well, no. I didn't really…see the guys that well, I don't think it'll help…."

Mareka snorted--he knew that she wasn't very fond of the police herself, as they had never caught the men who had attacked her last year, either. "You're probably right. But at least let me take you to the hospital. You should get a tetanus shot or something."

"I'm caught up," Yuusaku quickly assured. "Because of work. I don't want to go to the hospital."

"But Sweetie, someone should look at you. What if you get infected or something?"

She touched his cheek, and it wasn't until he flinched that he even remembered he was bruised there. He had been so concerned about what Mareka might think of him and his foolish antics that he'd forgotten everything but his throbbing arm. With that fear past, it was easier to notice that his head was aching, and his ribs were sore, and…he smelled.

Yuusaku swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."

"Hm?" Mareka leaned back and smiled tiredly. "All right--I won't make you go to a doctor. But you're calling in sick tomorrow, and I'm keeping my eye on you. Got that, Mister?"

Relieved, Yuusaku managed to smile back. "Okay."

"Good." She kissed him softly and reached for his turtleneck, helping him pull it over his head. "Now how about you get cleaned up, and come meet our guest. He's a great rider--you'll like him."

Yuusaku frowned, and started to protest, but by then Mareka was already heading to the door. He squirmed. "O-Okay!"

"I'll leave your favorite sweater out for you," Mareka added as she slipped out.

She closed the door behind her.

Yuusaku stared after her; as soon as she was gone every part of him began to ache anew. But he knew she loved playing hostess, and he didn't want to disappoint her by ignoring their company. _Whatever he's doing here anyway._ Yuusaku took some aspirin and began to clean up himself and the bathroom, pouting silently all the while.

The sweater Mareka left out for him was an oversized knit with green stripes. It was his favorite, but he normally wouldn't have picked it with someone else over, as it made him look even scrawnier than usual. He put it on anyway, along with fresh jeans. Mareka's pink scrunchie probably didn't help the image either, but he kept that, too.

_He can't stay that long,_ Yuusaku reasoned as he shuffled toward the kitchen. _It's already pretty late--he'll have to leave soon._

"I know what you're thinking," Mareka's voice echoed back to him as he approached. He could hear her moving about the kitchen, pulling glasses out of the cupboards. "'How does a girl like Mareka end up with Yuusaku Amasugi?'"

Yuusaku paused. He hated that question almost as much as the look Matt had given him earlier. He knew the answer so well by now he could have dictated it by heart, right down to the tone she used in relating it.

"Actually," Matt carried on, "I was thinking, wow, it's a wonder you're married at all. From the way you ride, I mean. Must be hard to keep a woman like you tied down."

"Tied down? Don't be silly." Their kitchen wall had a small section cut out of it, affording a view of the small living room and entranceway, and from Yuusaku's position he could see the pair as they conversed. Matt was seated at the kitchen table, chin rested in his palm as he watched Mareka pour the coffee into mugs. "I still ride," she said as she handed one to her guest. "I beat _you_, didn't I?"

"You sure did." Matt grinned, and as he took a sip he glanced to the side. Yuusaku flinched when he was spotted. But instead of calling attention to him, Matt's grin thinned slightly, his one visible eye…growing sharp, as if coming into focus. "So." He watched Yuusaku as he addressed his wife, who had turned her back to them both. "How _does_ a girl like Mareka end up with a dude like Yuusaku Amasugi?"

Yuusaku didn't like the sudden feeling of being teased, but he decided to let Mareka give her answer before making himself known to her. She liked telling that story--she did it all the time. _"Well you see, I was coming home from work--"_

"You…want to know the truth?" Mareka asked as she dug into the fridge.

_The…truth?_ Yuusaku hadn't been expecting that. He stepped a little closer, ignoring Matt now in favor of casting Mareka a curious look. She'd answered that question the same way a dozen times; he hadn't been aware there was some other way of responding. Her sudden change of wording made him wonder, if…there was some "truth" he hadn't heard before.

Matt's voice was careless. "Sure."

"Well," Mareka began conspiratorially, "the truth is…."

She turned away from the refrigerator with a carton of cream, and before she could continue her story she spotted Yuusaku watching her from the living room. She jumped, for a moment her face betraying a flash of what might have been guilt. "Oh, Yuusaku! There you are." With a blush and escaping eyes she turned back to the table. "Come sit with us."

Yuusaku followed, and allowed Mareka to herd him into a chair opposite their guest. "Here--plenty of cream, just how you like it," she offered, pouring it into his mug.

Matt took his black. "You were saying?" he prompted innocently.

"Oh! Yes." Mareka chuckled to herself and took a seat. "Well you see, I was coming home from work one night…"

Yuusaku's brow furrowed as he let the rest of Mareka's story slip to the back of his mind. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else, hidden beneath her words. _What was she going to tell him before she realized I was listening…?_

"…And they ran right off! He saved my life." Mareka touched Yuusaku's knee, bringing his attention back. "We saw each other a few times after that, and before we knew it, we were together."

"Wow." That same, slightly incredulous tone. "Sounds like you're a real hero, dude."

_A hero?_ _Yeah, right…._ Yuusaku sipped his coffee awkwardly. "I guess." His gaze danced back and forth between the pair. "I'm sorry. You are…?"

"Oh! I'm sorry." Mareka laughed to herself and leaned back so they could see each other across her. "I just rattled on without introducing you! Yuusaku, this is Matt Engarde. He's a biker--and an actor! Isn't that exciting? We met on the road."

"I see." Yuusaku smiled, for Mareka's sake. "Nice to meet you."

Matt waved. "Ditto."

"Do you remember those old squirt gun commercials when we were kids?" Mareka continued, her spirits as high as ever. "Those ones that you pumped--and there was the pool party?" She gave Matt's shoulder a shake. "_That_ was him! That was Matt! Isn't that just _wild?_"

"Yeah, it's…." Yuusaku ducked his head a little as they laughed. "That's great…."

"It's no biggie," Matt insisted. "Just a couple commercials. I'm more impressed by you, Mareka." He brushed a lock of hair off her shoulder. "The way you handled that bike. It was totally rad."

Yuusaku tensed again, fingers tightening around his mug. This wouldn't be the first stranger Mareka invited home. She was always willing to make a new friend, and sometimes it seemed that every man in the city was just as eager to meet her. She was popular--there was nothing wrong with that. He couldn't complain when it was that open nature of hers that had brought the two of them together.

But when Matt glanced his way something in his stare struck him again. He was teasing him. _I don't like him_. Yuusaku set his mug down, trying to appear confident and unshaken by whatever game this had suddenly become. _I don't want him to be here. I don't trust him._

"Well, I get plenty of practice," Mareka was saying. "I just wish Yuusaku would come out with me more--he's such a scaredy-cat when it comes to the bike."

"I--" Yuusaku shifted in his chair. "I'm not scared," he protested.

"Then why don't you ride with me?" Mareka insisted, reclining easily in her chair. The slight arch of her back made her figure even more stunning in her tight black top, which both men clearly noticed. "I got you a helmet and everything."

"I don't blame him," Matt interrupted jovially. "He's so skinny, he might blow right off the back!"

Mareka laughed--Yuusaku could have brushed aside the childish taunt if not for that. He pushed suddenly out of his chair, with such force that it rocked and almost fell over. "I'm--I'm not feeling well!"

Matt and Mareka blinked up at him, startled by the abrupt declaration. "Yuusaku…?" his wife asked as she tried to reign in her humor.

"I'm…." Yuusaku's shoulders hitched, his lips pursed with a swell of emotion. But a moment later his temper left him, and he grew slack once more. "I'm not feeling well," he repeated. "I think I should lie down…. I'm pretty tired…."

"Oh…of course, Sweetie."

Mareka stood, but instead of letting her touch him Yuusaku stepped back, out of range. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Engarde," he mumbled as he retreated from the kitchen.

"You, too, dude…"

Yuusaku returned to the bathroom, closing the door quickly behind him--locking it this time in a childish display of retaliation. Once he was alone again, finally out from under the dull scrutiny of that irritating stranger, he felt more humiliated than ever. _You're just jealous_, he reasoned to himself as he leaned his back against the door. _And you stormed out of there like a baby. You were just imagining things--there's nothing wrong with Matt. It's just you._

Yuusaku sighed. When he sagged his sweater caught against the door, making it bunch around his neck. _It's just you, being stupid again. You're married now. She loves you. It…doesn't matter why._ He tugged Mareka's scrunchie out so that his hair fell in thick waves over his shoulders. _I don't care if there's more to that story she always tells_….

He heard Mareka's footsteps coming--socks instead of boots this time--so he didn't jump when she knocked on the door. "Yuusaku?" She sounded concerned, and it actually made him feel a little better. "Are you all right in there?"

If it had been foolish to hide in the first place, it would have been even more ridiculous to remain there. With a quiet sigh Yuusaku turned and opened the door. He scuffed his toe against the floor. "Yeah…."

Mareka took his hand, tugging him out into the living room once more. "Okay." She kissed his cheek. "Come on--I'm putting you to bed."

"But--" Yuusaku glanced around, but didn't see any sign of their guest. "Where did--"

"Matt went home," Mareka explained. She gave him another tug, and Yuusaku gave no protest as she turned out the lights on the way to the bedroom. "You should have said something earlier. I would have asked him to leave."

"I know." Mareka had always been that considerate. "But…he was a guest…." More than that, it would have been like admitting defeat, and Yuusaku liked the idea of that even less.

"Oh Yuusaku." Mareka sighed, and once they were in the bedroom she nudged him toward the bed. "Lie down, silly. I'm gonna get changed, and then we can watch some TV before bed, okay?"

"Okay…" Yuusaku's hand lingered in hers as she moved away, so that it bounced lightly against his hip when they finally let go. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he stretched out in bed and clicked the television remote. The late evening news was nowhere near as interesting as watching Mareka slip out of her tank top.

_It doesn't matter,_ he told himself again, trying not to appear too attentive as Mareka wriggled out of her riding pants and pulled an old blue tee-shirt over her head. _She loves me. That's…more than I deserve already._

She disappeared into the bathroom, finishing off her daily routine. Yuusaku followed her progress with his ears. By the time she emerged he was beginning to feel restless. As soon as she hopped onto the bed next to him he twisted, dragging her close for a sudden kiss.

"Yuu--" Mareka's voice was smothered by a happy murmur as she kissed him back. Her lips were warm and tasted like peppermint toothpaste, and Yuusaku relaxed gratefully into them. For a few brief moments everything that had happened that day was eclipsed by the smooth curve of her bare waist beneath his fingers.

She tugged at his sweater, and Yuusaku was only too glad to obey; his hair swatted at them both as he rolled easily over her. But as he put a hand down to brace himself his arm complained with a sharp throb, reminding him of the injury suffered earlier. A soft noise of pain broke their kiss, and he quickly shifted his weight to his right instead.

It took Mareka a moment to realize what had happened, but when she did she resumed her fussing. "Oh Yuusaku, I'm sorry--are you all right?" She pushed him onto his back unchallenged. "My poor Yuu. You're going to tear it open again."

Yuusaku let his breath out in a deep sigh of disappointment. "Sorry," he mumbled. It would have made everything so much better, if they could just….

"It's not your fault, Sweetie." She pressed a hand to his chest as she leaned in for another kiss, unintentionally pressuring one of his other bruises. He wasn't able to hold back a sharp wince, which halted her before she could reach his lips. With a quiet sigh of her own Mareka nestled instead at his side and pressed her kiss to his clothed shoulder.

"Just get some rest," she said. "You'll probably be sore tomorrow." Her hand moved tentatively to his, as if afraid of hurting him again.

Yuusaku gripped it tightly. "No, I'll be fine," he assured. "It's not…that bad."

Mareka clicked her tongue at him. "Little liar," she scolded, making him flinch. "I'm your wife, now. You don't have to lie to me."

Yuusaku's stomach churned. Despite all his self-assurances, when he glanced down and found her wide brown eyes on him, he couldn't stop himself. "Neither do you."

Mareka leaned back slightly, her brow furrowing at what had unintentionally--or perhaps intentionally--sounded like an accusation. When she tipped her chin down, breaking their joined gaze, it made Yuusaku's fingertips chill to numbness. "Of course."

_Mareka_…. Yuusaku glanced away as well, keeping his hand tight around hers even though her fingers had gone limp. Guilt turned his stomach to cold mud.

_Stupid._ He squeezed his eyes shut. _Stupid Amasugi._


	3. Part 3 Matt Engarde

T Ace Attorney / Gyakuten Saiban, its characters and settings, are property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. This fic is rated PG and contains spoilers for JFA case 4.

This fic also deals with issues of mental health, which some may find uncomfortable.

**Sustenance**  
Part 3

One of the first lessons Matt Engarde had learned was never to be surprised.

Despite popular belief, most humans preferred not being surprised. They preferred order, predictability, and comfort. But most of all they preferred control, and to be caught off one's guard indicated a lack thereof. It was, consequently, one of the many unforgivable weaknesses a man should never show.

So when Juan Corrida's twisted and enraged countenance appeared in the dressing room mirror, Matt betrayed no sign of shock. He only raised an eyebrow as he turned to face him. "Can I help you?"

They were going to make a scene. Already everyone in the dressing room had grown silent, glancing in the direction of the two men: Matt, seated peacefully at the make-up counter, and Juan, breathing hard from the doorway. It was the sort of thing that Matt tried to avoid, at least in public.

"You," Juan hissed, his fists shaking at his sides as he glared his rival down. "This is all your fault." His eyes were strangely red and swollen, as if he'd been…crying?

_Ugh. How gross._ Matt shrugged his shoulders innocently. "I'm…sorry? Dude, I'm totally about to go to shooting. I'm a raccoon today." He pointed to the half-finished black make-up around his eye. "Can we talk later?"

"It's your fault!" Juan hollered, spit flying from his mouth. "What the hell did you say to her!?"

That got his attention. But still, Matt's face indicated nothing but calm confusion. "Totally don't know who you mean, Corrida."

"You…you son of a bitch!"

The room was small to begin with, so Juan only had to take two long steps to reach Matt at the counter. With a scream the make-up girl scampered out of the way, just as Juan's fist came flying. Matt was ready for that. He didn't even stand out of his chair as he batted Juan's punch aside with his forearm, diverting the attack into the mirror behind him. The shattering glass raised a gasp from the handful of spectators, but it didn't halt Juan. Even with his hand bloodied, he reached for Matt again.

_What a pain._ Matt snatched him by the wrist, finally pushing to his feet as he spun the enraged man around. With only slight effort he forced Juan down against the counter, pinning his arm behind his back.

"I do all my own stunts," he reminded Juan brightly.

Juan growled furiously, struggling against his hold. "Let go! I swear I'll kill you this time, Engarde!"

Matt cast a quick glance around them: the make-up girl seemed to have fled, but two of the other extras were still at one end of the dressing room, watching the fight with wide eyes. "Look, I dunno what's got you so hyper, man," he said evenly. "But, seriously, can it wait? This isn't a good time--"

"God, will you just _shut up_!?"

Juan pushed with his foot and free hand against the counter, throwing all his weight back. The one advantage he had over Matt was pure body mass--glutton that he was--and he managed to knock them both away from the wall and onto the floor.

This was not turning out to be the best of days.

Matt recovered from the fall relatively well. He'd been in his fair share of fights, and the irritation he felt at this unprovoked attack gave him the burst of strength he needed to wrestle Juan down once more. This time he sat himself heavily on Juan's chest, pinning his wrists by his ears.

"Dude!" Damn gawkers. If they would just clear out, he could tell Juan Corrida what he really thought of this disruption. "Chill out, okay? Don't make me call security."

"Damn it!" Juan ground his teeth as he gave up his struggles a moment. His eyes really were watering, making him even more pitiful than usual. "Damn it, Engarde, Celeste--"

Matt snapped a hand around Juan's throat, cutting off his breath along with whatever he had been about to say. The last thing he needed was a pair of loose-lipped nobodies overhearing something…distasteful. He leaned down, the tilt of his head allowing his bangs to droop, hiding his cruel smirk from everyone but Juan. "Shouldn't you be home mowing my lawn or something?" he taunted.

Juan spat, catching him full across the face. It was a ridiculous gesture, but it caused a crack in Matt's usually impeccable composure. In a moment of thoughtless anger he added his other hand to the one already at Juan's neck, and squeezed. "Fuck with _me_, will you?" he hissed under his breath, watching with great satisfaction as Juan pawed weakly at his arms and wrists. "This is the last time, Corrida!"

A thick hand came down on his shoulder, trying to tug him back. But Matt's grip was sound--his hands remained clamped around Juan's throat, lifting him away from the floor. It took another set of thick fingers, striking him with careful force across his cheek that finally woke him. Matt let go, allowing the older man to pry him away. He blinked in surprise at the familiar face. "Mr. Hammer?"

Jack shoved him back into his original chair, and then moved to bend over the gasping, huddled figure of Juan Corrida. "Steady, kid." After several long moments of breathless sputtering, Juan was finally able to be helped into a sitting position.

_That…that bastard._ Matt trembled angrily as he combed his hair over the right side of his face once more. _Making me break like that._ He fought to keep his expression a careful mix of remaining irritation and false guilt. "Is…he all right?"

Jack glanced between the two young men with a sigh. "I don't know what the hell is going on here, but it's over. Unless you want me to call security…?"

"No," Matt said quickly. There were too many people that had witnessed the event already, he didn't need the director getting wind of the details, let alone from security. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hammer. It won't happen again."

"Good." He touched Juan's shoulder. "And you?"

Juan shoved his hand away, scrubbing his sleeve across his face. His glare darted only briefly to Matt before falling once more. "Celeste is dead!" he blurted out. "She killed herself."

Matt Engarde didn't get surprised; he had trained that emotion out of himself. But his eyes did open a little wider, and for a moment he was genuinely speechless.

* * *

It was a long ride home. Matt would have preferred to stay on set and just go through the shooting as planned, but as it turned out, Jack Hammer remembered Celeste--and, more importantly, that she and Matt had at one time been a couple. Faced with that, Matt had no choice but to act upset by the news. The director had then postponed shooting until the next day out of sympathy.

It was a lot of trouble to go through for the sake of a kickboxing raccoon, but at least it meant they thought he was worth waiting for.

Matt tugged off his helmet as he stopped his motorcycle in a curbside parking space. It was still fairly early in the afternoon, and he had the rest of the day to himself…to grieve, or whatever. So he bought himself a club sandwich and a diet soda. Rather than eat at the place he took it back to the bike, and sat there as he gradually diminished his lunch.

_Stupid bitch._ He watched the cars speed by with little actual attention. _Didn't think she'd go that far. Would she really rather die than not have that greasy little poser? What a lunatic._

Celeste hadn't been a total waste of a human being. She had been a decent enough manager, a passable girlfriend. At least she'd always been willing to put out. But unfortunately, she'd also been an insufferable bore--it was only in dumping her that Matt recalled feeling any interest for her at all. If not for her running right off into Juan's bed, he might have gotten back together with her just to dump her again.

_And now she's dead._ Matt's eyes thinned as he sucked down the rest of his soda. _Weird._ _Been a while since someone died._

It was strange to think that sometimes people simply stopped existing in the world. He hadn't seen Celeste for several months, and would not care to even if she were still living and breathing, but that didn't change the fact that there was one less person walking around. It wasn't that he felt remorse. In fact, he felt a very distinct lack of it.

Matt tossed his trash out in a nearby receptacle, and was preparing to finish his journey home when he caught a glance of a familiar woman across the street: a slender blonde, moving purposefully down the sidewalk with a paper bag clutched in her hand. _Strange coincidence,_ he thought, watching as she turned down a side road. The shops lining that side of the street were topped with small apartments, reminding him that he'd been there once before, to drop Celeste off one afternoon so she could meet with a friend.

_Oh, yeah. Alex, or Adrian, or Amanda or something._ Matt crossed his arms against the handles of his motorcycle as he watched her disappear from view. _Now **that** is a little hard-body. _His fingers curled and stretched faintly, scraping against his rolled up sleeves. _Celeste talked about her a lot. I wonder if…she's heard the news._

A sudden thought struck him: _Maybe she doesn't know._ _I could be the one to tell her._ He ran the tip of his tongue along his teeth.

_That might be…interesting._

Matt climbed off the motorcycle once more, and hummed to himself as he crossed the road. Halfway down the street the blonde had disappeared down he came across the door that led up into the second story apartments. Fortunately for him, a long parade of key-forgetting tenants through the years had kicked the door in enough times that it wasn't hard to jiggle open. _What apartment was it anyway?_ he tried to recall as he casually ascended. _21 A or something?_

The hallway smelled of new carpet and old paint. Matt wrinkled his nose as he moved down the line of plain brown doors. _How do people live like this? I guess if I was getting married to Corrida so I could live in a dump like this, I'd kill myself, too._ The thought made him smirk, and he plucked idly at the peeling wallpaper as he tried to remember the number. _It was a Saturday. Celeste was gonna take the blonde to meet some other agents for lunch. Help her into the industry, or something._ _Crap, I didn't give a shit then. How am I supposed to remember now?_

Another stroke of luck ended Matt's search--the door at the end of the hall was open. He crept forward, and paused just beyond the opening to listen. At least spying was better entertainment than going home.

He could hear someone moving about the apartment: footsteps, a cabinet being opened and closed, a faucet running. When he listened carefully enough he could hear a woman's quiet sob.

_Hm._ Matt pursed his lips distastefully. _Sounds like maybe she's already heard._ _Well what fun is that, then?_ He had been hoping to see the first look of shock, the first welling of tears as she learned her world was one person smaller. It wasn't any fun if she was already puffy and gross.

All sound ceased in the apartment. Matt had just been preparing to leave, but something about the abrupt silence caught his attention, as if there were something unnatural about it. It was a well kept secret that Matt Engarde was as curious as he was tenacious; once the idea that something had happened got into his brain he couldn't remove it.

_I'll just take a peek._ Matt tugged the collar of his jacket up as he crept on his toes to the doorway. _And then I'll get the hell out of this dump._

The apartment, what little he could see of it, was only sparsely furnished. Despite the drab, baby-puke-beige paint on the walls, the placement of a few small, potted plants was tastefully done. It was neat, if not dreadfully boring. Again Matt almost gave up his chosen excursion right then.

The keys were on the floor. That in itself signified some greater interest to be had--what kind of unpardonable simpleton entered an apartment and not only left keys in plain sight, but the entire door halfway open as well? He had to meet this woman if only to mock her.

"Hello…?" Matt nudged the door open and took a glance around the empty living room. _I'll tell her I came to offer my sympathy,_ he plotted. _And I saw the door open. Very dangerous, leaving your home exposed like that. Ugh, even a dump like this._

His opinion of the apartment didn't change much even after he was granted a full view of it. There were only a few items that seemed out of place, and he followed them like breadcrumbs through the unfamiliar layout: the keys on the floor, a crumpled paper bag, a pair of glasses on the counter. But most noticeable was the empty glass next to the kitchen sink, among a small collection of little orange pill bottles.

_Aha. _Matt circled the counter, humming to himself as he checked the labels. _Maybe she's got something I can sell._ But the ones he recognized were disappointingly empty, and he sighed. _Nothing's more depressing than an empty bottle of Valium._

…_Wait a minute_...

Matt straightened up, his gaze shifting back and forth between the empty bottles and the drops of moisture still clinging to the inside of the drinking glass. He was an actor, not a brain surgeon or rocket scientist, but it wasn't a difficult equation to figure out.

_Holy shit._ _This, I have to see._

"Adrian?" Matt left the kitchen, a slight tension in his limbs overpowering his half-hearted curiosity of earlier. "Whatever your name was?" It was only a small, one bedroom apartment, which made the woman easy to find. A door on the left, which had also been left carelessly open, led him to another modestly-decorated room and the object of his search.

The blonde was stretched out in bed, the blankets tugged up around her ears so that only her eyes and nose were visible--both red from crying. From the doorway he couldn't tell if she was breathing. Everything in the room was so quiet and still…and cold, as if it were already playing its part as tomb.

Matt laughed.

It was only a short sound, cut off quickly by his hand clapping over his mouth. His eyes, already wide, were stretched further when he saw her stir, just faintly, with the noise. He feared for a moment that she would awake completely and demand an explanation from him, but this proved not to be the case. Slowly, the hand covering his mouth slid up his face to push his hair out of the way for a better view. As he watched closely, the woman shifted again and let out a quiet sigh.

_Not quite dead yet._ Matt's shoulders convulsed with an involuntary snort. _Holy crap, Corrida._ _You're turning into a serial killer._ His hand curled stiffly around the door frame, using it as leverage to urge himself into the room.

_What is it with you people?_ Matt crept forward with a sick fascination, careful to make no further disturbance as he approached the woman's bedside. _I didn't really mean it, you know--that I'd rather die than live in his heap._ Once he was close enough he reached out, his fingertips brushing faintly over a strand of dull blonde. _It's not **that** bad, you crazy bitch. _

"Who…." The blonde shivered, her eyelids battling to open. "Who's there…?"

Matt flinched, and instinctively covered her eyes. Not that it would matter if she recognized him--she must have been pretty well doped up by then anyway. But the thought of being spotted here in the presence of this failing little creature made his stomach churn with ill ease. "No one," he whispered. "Go back to sleep, Alex."

He felt her brow wrinkle against his palm. "What…?"

"Er, Adrian." Matt glanced around the room in paranoia of being watched. He suddenly couldn't remember what he was even doing here, and why it had interested him. Since she was still partially conscious, at least he could ask. He licked his lips. "So why'd you do it?" he asked carelessly.

She shivered. Her hand slipped out from under the blankets to tug at his wrist, but she was too weak to pull it away. She quickly gave up and sighed deeply. "I can't do it," she murmured hopelessly. "I need her."

Matt frowned down at her with disgust. "You mean, Celeste?" _I threw her away. Why would anyone die for that boring loser?_ His insides gave another disgruntled quiver.

"I need her," the woman repeated. Warm tears soaked into Matt's biking glove.

He stood still for a moment longer, expecting a deeper explanation, or at least one that made more sense. But the blonde didn't speak again, and if not for the shallow breath moving over his thumb Matt would have assumed her dead. He slowly withdrew his hand.

She was disgusting. Matt's face twisted into a scowl as he watched her take in each careful breath. He knew that gradually they would become even weaker. Her face would grow pale beneath the tracts of tears. Everything that made up the hard-body blonde in the crappy apartment would cease to exist. If he waited long enough, he would be able to see it. He could sit and watch until her last, wretched moment of living, when human became decaying pile of meat.

Not that there was any reason to. Matt remembered too well how simple and uninspiring the transition was. Nothing surprised him anyway.

"Go back to sleep," he muttered, pulling off the glove she'd been crying against. "World's probably better off without you in it anyway."

Matt turned, and strode easily out of the bedroom. He wasn't sure what he planned to do next until he found himself in the kitchen, plucking a cordless phone out of its caddy. He dialed 911 and faked a little strain in his voice as he gave out the situation and apartment number. _I came to offer my sympathy_, he told himself as set the phone aside. He didn't really want to hear any of the instructions of the technician on the other end of the line. _I saw the door open. I found her in the bedroom and called for help. That's what I did._ His eyes thinned. _That's what a person would do. She'll never know it was me in here._

So she was going to live a while longer. It would have been quicker, and easier, just to leave and let her die. So easy, in fact, that the thought no longer amused Matt. Given that her death would be just as pointless as her continued existence, there was no reason not to save her.

"How disgusting," Matt grumbled, rubbing his eyes. He couldn't get the blonde's puffed up face out of his head. "What did she see in that bitch anyway? She was such a clingy, obnoxious little thing." He rolled his eyes with the memory of all the times Celeste had tugged his hand, all those stupid, cute faces she'd made to beg for kisses. "Are all women this weak?" he reflected bitterly. "They can't even _live_ without leeching off of someone else. It's pathetic." His shoulders ached with a sudden tension between them. "It makes me sick."

_I could never be that weak…_

His stomach twisted; he gagged, but managed to hold back just long enough to twist towards the sink. His throat burned with bile as he vomited up his mourning lunch of sandwich and diet soda. There was a sudden, cold sweat on his brow that made him shiver within his leather racing jacket. But despite the sudden nausea, which continued even after his stomach was thoroughly empty, he could only look at the mess he'd made and laugh.

"Like I said," he said, his smile twisted. "It makes me sick."

A few minutes later the paramedics arrived. They moved quickly to the back of the apartment, and short minutes later emerged with the blonde on a stretcher. As they headed for the door one of the technicians paused at Matt, noting him and the vomit he hadn't bothered to wash out of the sink. "Are you all right, sir?"

"Fine," Matt said, leaning his back against the counter. Thankfully, he had remembered to restyle his hair before they arrived, and was able to offer a thin smile. "Just a little shaken up."

"What happened to your hand?"

Matt blinked, and glanced down to his ungloved right hand. It was stained with fresh blood from four shallow scratches down the back of his palm--blood that also decorated the manicured nails on his left. Now that his attention had been drawn to them, they kind of stung a little.

"Oh." Matt shrugged--nothing surprised him anymore. "I guess I did it to myself."

Ignoring the looks from the paramedics, he chuckled to himself and walked out.


End file.
